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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28150917">the way forward</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamtiwasanarchitect/pseuds/dreamtiwasanarchitect'>dreamtiwasanarchitect</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Trust (TV 2018)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Age Difference, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Daddy Issues, Drug Use, F/M, Hospitals, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Infidelity, M/M, Post-Canon, The Mortifying Ordeal of Being Known</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 17:00:58</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,989</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28150917</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamtiwasanarchitect/pseuds/dreamtiwasanarchitect</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>He puts his arms around his wife and thinks of all the parts of himself that are tucked away from her, things she knows the shape of, but not the specifics. What he did for Salvatore, what he does for Primo. What he does with Primo. What he’s teaching their son.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Leonardo/Primo Nizzuto, Leonardo/Regina (Trust)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>80</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>the way forward</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Francesco, newly fifteen and thusly deemed a man by Primo, had been thrilled to sit in on their meeting with some of the friendly faces in the port authority. But Leonardo is unenthused about it, and Regina will be even less so when she finds out, no doubt over dinner when she returns from the village. </p><p>To give credit where it was due, at least Primo had chosen an encounter that was unlikely to be eventful. The port authority men were toothless, old bureaucrats who needed very little in the way of persuasion as long as they saw some way to benefit. </p><p>In fact, the whole thing is rather dull, and while one of the men—Vito, he thinks—trips over himself to curry favor, Leonardo sneaks a glance at his son.</p><p>Francesco is clearly not paying attention to the conversation (if it could be called that), but neither does he looked bored. His fists are clenched at his sides, his skin has broken out in a sweat, and his face—well, Leo is painfully familiar with the expression, the look Francesco had when he scrapped his knees on the rocks lining the creek stream when he was five, when he broke his arm falling from a tree at eleven. It was the face he made when he was in pain and desperately trying not to cry.</p><p>Leo pushes back his chair, but pauses before he stands, hesitating as he thinks of Francesco’s inevitable annoyance at being coddled. Then he’s ashamed for putting his son’s minor pride over his well-being. </p><p>Vaguely, he hears Primo dismiss the port authority men, and Leo stands to press a hand to Francesco’s forehead. It’s a sign of how unwell his son must be that he makes no effort to fend Leonardo off. </p><p>“He’s sick?”</p><p>Leo looks over his shoulder. Primo has closed the door of his office and stands with his hands on his hips, intense gazed fixed on them. “He’s burning up,” Leo says, and guides Francesco to sit.</p><p>Primo moves forward and brings the back of his hand to Francesco’s cheek. </p><p>“What is it, Francesco?” Leo asks, afraid they’ve only scratched the surface of what’s ailing the boy.</p><p>“My stomach,” Francesco tells him, voice small. “It hurts, Papa.”</p><p>Before Leo can ask it, Primo is back at his desk, dialing the phone. </p><p>He turns back to his son and strokes his sweaty brow. “Don’t worry, we’ll get the doctor here.”</p><p>———</p><p>The doctor conducts a quick examination, asks a few pointed questions, and begins to pack up his bag.</p><p>“Appendicitis,” he tells them. “He will need it removed, quickly.”</p><p>“We’ll meet you at your office,” Leo says.</p><p>The doctor shakes his head. “No, no. He needs a hospital.”</p><p>The nearest proper hospital is in Naples. Leo’s heart sinks.</p><p>“You’d best leave now,” the doctor says.</p><p>Leo wants to rail at the man, demand he help his son now, but Primo is already lifting Francesco from the chair, and the doctor’s out the door. </p><p>“Come on, Francesco.” </p><p>“Primo,” Leo says helplessly, “Regina has the car—”</p><p>“Are you stupid?” Primo snaps. “Have you forgotten I have a car?”</p><p>And Leo has no response to that, so he says nothing, just helps bundle Francesco into the backseat, and for once he’s grateful for Primo’s insane driving, because it gets them to the hospital in less the four hours, which still feels too long. </p><p>They didn’t speak on the drive, except to futilely check on Francesco every fifteen minutes. Seeing his son like this, suffering, and unable to stop it—Leo could not image a greater pain. </p><p>They arrive at the hospital it’s a flurry of movement and action until they take Francesco back for surgery and Leo is left staring, suddenly with nothing to do but wait. </p><p>He needs to call Regina, but he’s not entirely sure he’ll be able to reach her at Donna Luciani’s, where she’s helping the old woman after a bad fall. And more, he doesn’t want to tell her anything until he can assure her that everything is fine, that Francesco is okay. </p><p>Helplessly, he looks to Primo, who’s sticking a cigarette between his lips. He lifts the pack to Leo in offering.</p><p>Primo has always been an unpredictable element in an unstable situation, a forest fire in a thunderstorm, but despite Leo’s panic, Primo got them here. He got them here, just like got the ransom money, like he got the port built, like he got their entire village something better.</p><p>Leo ignores the cigarettes and pulls Primo into an embrace. </p><p>They’ve shared many different touches lately—certainly more than they should be, Leo thinks guiltily—but none quite like this. Primo goes stiff in Leo’s arms, and he doesn’t hug him back, but neither does he pull away. </p><p>They stand like that until Leo gets the sense that drawing this out is pushing his luck. He’s always had a finger on the pulse of what Primo will allow. He steps back and sinks into a chair. </p><p>“Francesco will be all right,” Primo says. “He’s strong.” He lights his cigarette and takes a long drag.</p><p>Leo nods. </p><p>———</p><p>In the end, the wait is not so long. Just over an hour passes before the doctor comes to let Leo know that the procedure went well, that Francesco will need to stay the night for observation but he will be fine. </p><p>Leo leaves to call Regina, and when he comes back to the waiting room Primo’s nowhere to be seen. He can only puzzle over the disappearance for a few minutes before he’s shown to Francesco’s room.</p><p>Francesco is awake, looking groggy but still in better health than last Leo saw him, and Leo sends a prayer of thanks to Saint Philomena. He takes a seat at Francesco’s bedside.</p><p>His son looks at him anxiously. “I ruined it, didn’t I,” Francesco says.</p><p>“Ruin? Ruined what?”</p><p>“The meeting with the port authority men.” </p><p>Leo is torn between laughter—those men were so deep in Primo’s pocket, he could hardly think of a thing that would keep them from doing as told—and despair that the meeting, of all things, is what concerns Francesco right now.</p><p>“No, no,” Leo tells him. “It was no matter.” In truth, he has no idea how the meeting resolved, but every confidence that it ended in Primo’s favor. </p><p>“But is Primo angry? Will he still let me—”</p><p>“Shh, shh. It’s fine. Just rest, I’ll never hear the end of it from your mother if you’re here another night because you made yourself ill fussing over Primo.”</p><p>Francesco sighs in protest, but his eyes close, and before long he’s asleep, breathing deep and even.</p><p>Leo watches him for a long time and doesn’t intend to sleep, but he must, because he jerks awake to the sound of the door snicking shut.</p><p>He expects a nurse, but it’s Primo. His pupils are blown wide, wider than can be blamed on the dimness of the room.</p><p>There’s only the one chair, so Primo half-sits on an arm rest. He smells like sambuca. </p><p>“How is the patient?” </p><p>Leo is disoriented from his unplanned nap, distracted by the heat radiating from Primo’s thigh. </p><p>“He’s been sleeping,” Leo says. “Where were you?”</p><p>Primo waves a hand. “Some business.”<br/><br/>It surprises Leo that Primo would attend to such matters without him. He nods, trying to parse if this is Primo expressing displeasure, or if he was simply being considerate of Leo’s worry for Francesco.</p><p>He thinks it might actually be the latter, which is perhaps the more unsettling possibility. </p><p>“Did—did it go well?”</p><p>“It was handled.” Primo sounds tired, but there’s a telltale tightness in the set of his jaw. His body hums with a current of tension, and Leo doesn’t think it’s just the coke. </p><p>Unthinking, Leo puts a hand on his thigh. Primo stares down at it for a long moment before leaning his head back against the wall, eyes drifting shut.</p><p>Leo doesn’t move his hand until Francesco begins to stir.</p><p>———</p><p>They leave the hospital early the next morning. Primo still drives at a break-neck speed, but he turns on the radio and sings along. Francesco is in good spirits as well; as they were walking out the door, Primo had clapped him on the shoulder, told him he was very brave, and that approval is sure to buoy him for the rest of the day. </p><p>So the mood in the car is too high for Leo to worry about Primo’s driving, any possible complications from the surgery, or how upset Regina will be when they get home.</p><p>She must have been watching or listening for them, because she’s rushing out of the house as soon as they pull up. She bundles Francesco in her arms, and Leo can tell that he’s embarrassed to be coddled by his mother at all, and especially in front of Primo, but Leo gives him a pointed look and he tolerates it. </p><p>Leo and Regina share a quick embrace before she turns her attention to the Alfetta, still idling in their driveway. Primo’s made no move to get out of the car, an arm still dangling out the window, and his face is impassive, eyes hidden behind his sunglasses. </p><p>Regina leans in, takes his hand, and kisses his cheek, which is certainly the most warmth she’s shown Primo since the move to Gioia Tauro. They exchange words, but Leo can’t make them out, and before he can insert himself into their interaction, the engine revs and the car is whipping away.</p><p>He watches Regina’s face as she turns back to them. She doesn’t look upset or worried, which is a good sign, but there’s something thoughtful in her expression. </p><p>They eat and Francesco gives a detailed account of his illness, the surgery (though of course he can recall very little of that), and the hospital stay. Leo doesn’t miss how Francesco skirts around where he was when the pain began.</p><p>At fifteen, his son is already learning what parts of himself he must tuck away from his family.</p><p>Later, in their bed, Leo expects Regina to press for the details she let slide on the phone, over dinner—what were the three of them doing together when Francesco took ill, how was it that Primo took them to the hospital—but she just rests her head on Leo’s chest. </p><p>He puts his arms around his wife and thinks of all the parts of himself that are tucked away from her, things she knows the shape of, but not the specifics. What he did for Salvatore, what he does for Primo. What he does with Primo. What he’s teaching their son.</p><p>He aches to confess, but Regina is his wife, not his priest, and she knows enough of his sins.</p><p>“I love you,” he tells her. </p><p>She looks up at him from beneath tired eyes. </p><p>“I love you, too,” she says.</p><p>———</p><p>The next day, Leo heads to the port as the sun is rising, hoping to arrive before Primo. He has a fifty-fifty chance—some days Primo is there before dawn, but just as often he doesn’t surface before noon.</p><p>Today is an early day. Leo spots him on the dock, silhouetted against the pink-orange flush of the sun on the water. </p><p>As he approaches, Primo leans back to recline on his elbows, legs stretched out and crossed at the ankle. This time of year, this near to the water, it’s cold, but still Leo sits, trying to ignore his creaking bones. He takes the offered cigarette and leans in, letting Primo light it with his own, already half-smoked. </p><p>Primo’s still wearing yesterday’s clothes, which are also the previous day’s clothes given their unexpected hospital stay. The questions sit on Leo’s tongue—why are you here so early, where have you been, what have you gotten up to, are you okay—but he just watches Primo, looking for any clues that will help him puzzle it out on its own. </p><p>Primo takes a drag, then asks, “Do you remember when I came to your house with bruised ribs?”</p><p>Leo blinks. Of course he remembers. Primo was fourteen and in addition to bruised ribs, he had a broken nose, a cracked skull, and a sprained wrist. The memory makes Leo’s stomach twist. Violence, he’s used to, but a shoot out or fist fight among grown men is one thing; beating the shit out of a kid is another. </p><p>“Yes,” he says, and waits.</p><p>Primo blinks, slow and cat-like. Does he want to be pet, or is he about to lash out with his claws? Leo’s seen every part of Primo, but he still can’t tell. </p><p>“You were very kind.” He says it in that infuriating way of his, makes it impossible for Leo to know if it’s thanks or a dig. </p><p>“You were a kid, and you needed help,” Leo replies, trying not to snap. </p><p>“So? Who else gave a shit about that?” </p><p>Leo swallows. He knows they didn’t spend much time discussing how Primo got those injuries.  Even back then, Primo would have sooner fought him than accept any aid above what was required to keep himself alive. </p><p>Vulnerability isn’t among the many things that have passed between them over the years, but now Primo is looking at him with some raw feeling in his eyes and Leo can’t help but feel like the rules have suddenly changed.</p><p>“No one,” Leo admits finally. “I’m sorry.”</p><p>Primo’s face twists, like Leo’s said the wrong thing. “Don’t be fucking sorry.” </p><p>Leo rubs at his temple. “What do you want me to say, Primo?”</p><p>He looks away. “Nothing.” In a flash, he pushes to his feet and starts stalking away. Leo hurries to follow, knees protesting as he straightens. </p><p>From a few paces away, Primo watches his ungraceful movements. “Old man,” he laughs. </p><p>Leo huffs and falls into step next to Primo. He reaches over to give his hair a tug, and he meant for that to be it, but then Primo stiffens and gives him a look that Leo is (regrettably, wonderfully) intimately familiar with. </p><p>They change course, abandoning the office for the Alfetta.</p><p>———</p><p>Primo tries to get him to fuck in the car, but Leo refuses—“I’m old, as you’re so fond of reminding me”—so they go to Primo’s house, which always looks unsettlingly half-lived in. </p><p>“You stink,” Leo tells him, because he does, like cocaine-sweat and metabolized liquor with a cloud of cigarette smoke hanging over it all.</p><p>Primo makes a disgruntled noise, but he stops trying to hustle Leo out of his clothes. He stomps off and a minute later Leo hears the spray of the shower.</p><p>Leo glances around the bedroom, looking for a sign that Primo’s had anyone else in it, but he thinks it’s possible that Primo himself hasn’t spent any significant time in his room since the last time he and Leo fucked in it. </p><p>Primo saunters back in, naked and not especially dry. Leo kisses him before he can start ordering Leo around. Primo always has a tendency to be pushy at first, but once Leo’s weight is pressed against him, he melts into the mattress. </p><p>Primo clutches at him, one hand gripping Leo’s arm, one splayed out on his back, and Leo can only push into him with shallow thrusts when he’s held so close, but it’s still good because, unfortunately, it always is.</p><p>He realizes that the way Primo looks while Leo fucks him is uncomfortably reminiscent of all the times Primo came to him with an injury. The look in his eyes—open and wanting, but wary, still wild—is almost exactly the same.</p><p>Leo thinks he might be the only person who’s ever seen Primo like this, and Leo is not a particularly prideful or covetous man, but that thought—it does something to him, and he comes with a groan.</p><p>He’s still trying to make sense of all the unnamable things he’s feeling when Primo pushes him off, scowling.</p><p>“That was shit,” he says, already jerking himself.</p><p>Leo sighs and pushes his hands away. Primo looks murderous but his expression cracks open into surprise when Leo slips his fingers inside him. </p><p>Primo’s legs splay open but he turns his head to the side, looking away. At first Leo is grateful for that, but then Primo starts making noises, throaty gasps and little snarling sounds, and Leo threads his fingers into Primo’s wet hair and forces him to meet his eyes. </p><p>Primo’s pupils are blown wide, and there’s a red flush that reaches from his cheeks all the way down his chest. </p><p>“You’re beautiful,” Leo says, and before he can feel embarrassed about it, Primo’s eyes flutter shut and he comes all over his own stomach.</p><p>———</p><p>On the drive back to the port, Leo feels disgusting and self-conscious of his own smell, and he wishes he wouldn’t have stayed mostly dressed while they fucked. Primo, of course, is unconcerned. </p><p>“The meeting with the Colombians tomorrow,” Primo says suddenly. “Bring Francesco.”</p><p>Francesco would love that. Regina would hate it. There’s almost no room for Leo to have his own feelings about it. </p><p>“He has to rest for a week. The doctor said.” Leo looks at his hands, glad for the easy excuse.</p><p>Primo hums, irritated. “Next time, then.”</p><p>Leo is quiet, assumes that doesn’t need a response, but Primo looks over at him, gaze sharp.</p><p>“Yes, yes,” Leo says, defeated. “Next time.”</p><p>They pull up to the office and Primo slaps his thigh. “Don’t look so sour, baby lion. Your son’s going to learn everything he needs to know about business before he even sets foot inside his fucking university.”</p><p>Primo grins at him before sliding out of the car. The slam of the door jolts Leo into action, and once again—like always, at least these days—he hurries to catch up with Primo.</p>
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